


old food

by Voidromeda



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Macro/Micro, Mild Gore, Vore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 14:36:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21393805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voidromeda/pseuds/Voidromeda
Summary: Zed is missing for dinner with the ragtag group forcefully formed to fight some sort of formidable evil and, unfortunately for him, Kayn manages to find him. It does not end the way finding one late for dinner should.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	old food

**Author's Note:**

> I'm stressed with university so I'm going to write vore to deal with it.
> 
> What?

This is one of those many times in which Kayn has to wonder, perhaps internally and aloud to himself, how it is that he finds himself in this situation.

_‘Because you are too soft.’ _he hears Rhaast’s voice say in the back of his head, like the persistent filth he sees under his fingernails, and it is almost always accusatory and agitated towards him. _‘You are too kind and soft, and that will end your life one day.’ _he snorts as he listens to the same words he has heard over and over and over again, listening to those words growled out like an agitated predator, and he rolls his eyes while he stabs at his food.

Surrounding him, annoyingly, are a rather odd bunch – a motley crew, if Kayn is to be ‘kind’ like Rhaast accuses him to be – as they all talk far too loudly and far too much about things he has no interest in. To his left sits Jinx, yelling loudly at a Lux who smiles too brightly, who looks a little too manic and interested in what Jinx is saying, and he supposes that they are a match meant to be. Two madwomen meant for one another. Farther then is Madwoman number two’s brother, looking far too big and disgruntled for this table.

He seems out of place, uncomfortable, as people shove up against him and Miss Fortune, or whatever her name is (he never bothers learning it whenever she tells him), leans against him to read a book with many degrees of disinterest. He seems _especially _disconcerted with the woman leaning up against him, staring up at ahead with fatigue plaguing his face.

_‘That one would be difficult to fight.’ _Rhaast tells him, once upon a time, before Kayn snuffs his voice out. _‘Far too passionate, it is best we snuff him first and his sister after – she seems far more oblivious than he.’_

He always fantasizes about killing the two of them. They are but fantasies, of course. He has no real desire to lash out at them, no matter how much they agitate him. _‘How weak you are.’_

Even in death, Rhaast proceeds to haunt him. How amusing, if it is not for how infuriating it is. Perhaps he will go mad, just as mad as Lux and Jinx. Perhaps. Misery so does very much love company, does it not? He holds back a hiss – there is no need to have these idiots try and ask him as to how he feels. At the very least, he knows that Miss Fortune will not care. Kai’sa – who sits next to his right - shan’t either, despite how she looks at them all with big, wide fish-eyes and a desire to understand how this world differs from the void.

There is a desire for him to understand her as she wishes to understand them all, though he wishes to sink his fingers underneath her skin and see what it is that she hides. What makes her anatomy different, what organs does she carry, what does she bleed? Her body a living weapon, just begging to be explored.

He wants to peel her skin and see her, inside and out.

_‘To fight her would be a challenge,’ _says Rhaast, _‘perhaps we shall match her, one for one, for you and I are together a living weapon.’_

It is at those times that Rhaast sounds almost soft, almost in a way that can be misconstrued as fond. Perhaps humanity taints Rhaast, just as how he forever taints Kayn and his scales litter his skin, making him look more akin to a Darkin half-breed. He wonders what Zed will think of him now, merged with the weapon that he learns almost too late is leeching his life as long as Rhaast breathes.

Good thing he does no longer, then, isn’t it? What an… anticlimactic twist that the Darkin crumbles and falls apart as easily as he does. He rolls his eyes at himself and continues to move his fork through the many meats, rice, and vegetables upon his plate. It is still fresh and hot, a result of domestic magic, and it isn’t as though the food tastes bad – quite the contrary, it turns out that the brute, Pantheon as he is called, is an exceptionally skilled cook.

As he is moving his fork through his food once more, leaving his spoon untouched, his eyes drift over to where Zed is _supposed _to be sitting at. He raises his eyebrows. He doesn’t want to be the one to ask.

“Where is he?” a sharp voice breaks through the lively conversation, bringing it all to a halt – though Jinx rambles on for a second longer before she finally reads the room and, grumpily, quiets down.

Garen is the one who sets his cup down and, non-too gently, shoulders Miss Fortune off of him. He sits up straight, looking as dignified as he likes to pretend to be, and looks over to him – to Shen, sitting there, rigid and uncomfortable, plate empty and his mask untouched. “Who are you referring to?” Garen asks, stiffly, his body turning away from the elephant in the room.

Kayn’s eyes roll back over to where Zed’s seat remains empty, and it is unsubtle the way Shen’s fingers curl tightly as he crosses his arms, wrinkling his sleeves, and he tries not to snort in laughter. The hatred he has for Kayn’s old master is almost hysterical. Though it is a shame – he wishes to meet Zed with his new form now, having mastered the scythe afters months of not speaking to his master.

_‘Your master weakens you, his bond suffocates you.’_

Rhaast’s voice echoes in the back of his head like a ringing gong, feels it vibrate across the back of his skull and slither down his spine. His grip on his fork tightens. He looks away from the oncoming argument, the anger from Shen, and looks back down at his plate.

Something red catches the corner of his eye.

Red and small, next to his glass full of dark ale, and Kayn frowns. He reaches over, moves his glass aside, and his eyes widen when he realises what – or rather _who _– it is that walks in a daze on the busy table. There, right before him, small and far too minuscule to be real, is his ex-master bumbling and swaying in clear confusion on the table. His gaze flickers upwards to catch sight of Shen looking agitated, restless, speaking in low tones and harsh truths about his master, and catches Jinx and Lux fading in and out of the conversation while Garen tries to get Shen to understand his stance. Miss Fortune simply turns her attention away from them to speak to the odd cat creature, Yuumi, who tries to convince her that the book the former is reading is good.

He has no clue why it is that they are assembled together, frankly. It is only on some sort of uneasy alliance that everyone gathers together for what may be seen as a greater evil. He wonders what it is. He doesn’t pay much attention to their little meetings after the first one thanks to how chaotic they are prone to getting.

But he has no clue as to how everyone else will react upon seeing his little master.

It is with one look around that he reaches out and grabs at his master, curls his fist around him to silence his small cries, keeping everyone else from discovering Kayn’s own discovery, and he brings his hand over to his lap so that he may look down and further scrutinize what he thinks is his master. The mask is the same, if not a bit askew – his weapons are lost, probably thanks to whatever it is that shrinks him down – and his clothes are ruffled, a mess, as though he has gotten into a scuffle.

Whoever it is that has done this to his master renders him absolutely useless and weak like this, lost and dazed, and something nasty curls in Kayn’s belly.

_‘Severe your ties with your master, it is the best way for you to be free.’_

Rhaast has rarely given him wrong advice.

With a drag of his tongue across his upper teeth, lingering on his new and extra fangs – thanks to Rhaast, of course – and he places his master among the over-filled mess that is his plate.

“What are you doing?” he barely hears Zed’s voice say, questioning and tired, weak. If he struggles to hear him, then the others do not notice either. He hides him underneath all of the rice, the meat, and hides him until he is able to lift his spoon up and Zed is barely noticeable. Pantheon looks excited, from the distance, to see him finally take a spoonful of his food that he neglects for however long.

He opens his mouth, wide enough but not too much to be suspicious, and he thinks he can see movement under the rice, catches a peek of Zed’s head as he lifts it up to see what is happening. His chest swells with something hot, his blood boiling as he brings the spoon closer, and finally clamps his mouth down tight around the spoon, feeling the rice and soft, chewy meat that hides the tiny man underneath it all, and electricity jolts through his veins.

His master is in his mouth. He feels his body, heavy and sinking, down onto his tongue, the outline of his body, and he rolls his tongue around, pushing Zed until he is underneath the muscle and he is about to chew on his food without killing him – at least, not yet. The meat is soft underneath his teeth, tearing apart easily alongside the cooked vegetables and rice, and he makes sure to be slow, deliberate, careful with his mouth’s movement.

Once more his tongue curls and swirls his food around, moving Zed with it, and he feels him struggling – feels his fists pushing up against the weight of his muscle, trying to squirm away from where Kayn crushes him underneath it. He feels his fingers sink into the moist, slippery muscle, feels him pressing against his tongue’s frenulum when he slides underneath and he feels his body squirm and slip on the wet surface beneath his tongue.

Saliva fills up in his mouth, far more than he expects, as he licks and swirls his food around until Zed is drenched in the chewed up mess. He presses him to the palate, just to know he is there, just to feel, and he feels a fruitless slam of fist against the roof of his mouth. Once more he presses him down to the saliva drenched surface beneath his tongue just so that he may be able to swallow this bout of chewed food.

He takes another spoonful of Pantheon’s cooking. In the back of his head, he hears his own voice compliment the chef on his expertise. Every other part of his brain is taken over by the shrieking monstrosity that encourages him forward. He opens his mouth, curls his tongue a little so that Zed may breathe for but a moment, and he fills his mouth up once more.

This time, though, he makes sure not to leave Zed unattended. He curls his tongue and nudges at his master, feels his fists slam down desperately onto his slippery, wet muscle, and it takes a bit of attempting until he feels Zed’s legs between his teeth while food surrounds it.

His heart tightens. He sinks his teeth down.

And Zed’s scream echoes in his head as he feels, hears, _tastes _the way his bones break and fall apart with a sickening crunch that no one but him can listen to. He feels his head drift off, light-headed and throbbing, as blood soaks through Zed’s trousers and his bone pierces through his armour. His teeth tears the leather apart like it is nothing else and his master’s body mixes in with his meal.

The mixture is disgusting.

He feels almost intoxicated from the way his master screams insults at him, feels his voice vibrate across his palate, feels them rattling his teeth. He grinds the remains of his master’s teeth further and further until there is nothing left but dust, and he repositions his master simply so that he may break his left (or is it right? It isn’t as if he can tell) arm done with his teeth.

His master’s body tastes despicable, as rotten as Shen says he is, and it is only by some grace that his taste does not completely ruin the food Pantheon so graciously prepares for him. It is once he is sure that his master no longer has his limbs that Kayn presses him down once more, swallows the chewed food down, and for a moment opens his mouth so that Zed does not suffocate.

He grabs one piece of cooked carrot, brings it to his mouth, and softens it enough so that he may drag his master’s ruined body up. He tilts his head back, being careful to not be too conspicuous about it, and he feels the smooth slide of Zed’s body down his tongue. He feels him, briefly, against his uvula, lets his mouth build up saliva, and then swallows Zed down in one fatal swoop.

There is a moment where Zed’s body makes him gag, its size not too big but his shape still foreign to his throat, and Kayn has to swallow several times to force his master down his esophagus. He bows his head down, his hair forming an almost protective curtain around him, and he brings his hand up to trace along his throat and feel the slight bump of Zed’s body as the muscles of his esophagus squeeze, press, and force him down into his stomach.

He continues to swallow his saliva, just for the thought of it, and Kayn moves his hand away once Zed disappears past his collarbones. Fighting back a smirk, Kayn goes back to tuning the rest of the conversation out and actually finishing the meal before him.

Within his throat, Zed’s movements are minute, a simple back and forth twist now that his arms and legs are gone, crushed and digesting within Kayn’s belly, and he pushes himself against the unrelenting and powerful muscles that move rhythmically and drag him down. The struggle is pointless, fruitless, and still he struggles only for his own peace of mind – he hopes that Kayn is able to feel some sort of pain from this, even though he doubts it now that he has no way to fight back.

Betrayed by his own student – is that not a cliché? Though it is not as if many masters can say that their student devours them as a means to killing them.

Darkness surrounds him, his body drenched and slick with his student’s saliva, and Zed closes his eyes as exhaustion finally wins and drags at what is left of his bones. The pain, once screaming and non-stop, now turns into a humming buzz that burns and burns. It is not long before he falls into his new fleshy chamber, into the soup of alcohol and gastric juices, into the mush of chewed food, and he shudders at the way gurgles and rumbles surround him. His body lays flat against stretchy and firm flesh and the rotten, stinking stench of sulfur assaults his nose near immediately. He coughs and gags, breathing in even further the humid air of Kayn’s stomach, and he shudders. The gurgling continues as his stomach churns, digestion working at its best as acid oozes and plops down onto him. Further chewed up food falls into Kayn’s belly, filling it up and drowning Zed as he feasts, and liquid soon follows.

Stuck as he is in the stew of his student’s stomach contents, Zed can only pray that he suffocates to death within the thick miasma than to live through the acid breaking his body through.

His eyes slip shut.

And so he waits.

* * *

It is later in the week, when further inquiries about Zed’s whereabouts grow more frantic and concerned, that Kayn runs into Ashe – the Avarosan girl, if he remembers correctly. Her partnership with the rest of this ragtag team ends up being quite the topic of dissent in her tribe, or so it seems. Not many approve of her working with questionable folks, including Kayn of course.

“What ails you so?” Kayn asks when he takes in her pinched, troubled expression. Ashe jolts in surprise, more so because he has to grab onto her shoulders so that she does not smack into his chest. He lets go of her near immediately once she seems to return to reality. “You look upset. Did something happen with your tribe? Your lover?”

She frowns, her stance immediately guarded, and Kayn snorts. Ashe narrows her eyes at him, but then sighs not a moment later and looks away.

“I was able to speak to Kindred, in my dream,” Ashe says softly, and Kayn’s waning interest returns full force, “I spoke to Lamb – they came to me, their bow in hand, their expression… empty. They looked upon me, and said, _Oh, Avarosan, pray we meet not too soon. I hear your prayers, your concerns. I have with me your companion, dead is he. Ask no more for Zed, Master of Shadows._” she exhales shakily. “He is dead now, I suspect Shen will not be pleased about this.

“How is that he has died, I wonder?”

Kayn tries not to smirk too widely, schooling his expression as to not rouse suspicion. “How indeed, I wonder,” Kayn says, voice neutral, “I have never known my master to be bested by anything.”

Ashe looks away from him. “Yes, I suppose that it is indeed you who knew him best. May his soul rest peacefully, and I am sorry for the loss of one you held close.”

_‘There is nothing that should tether you to that ‘master of shadows’, now, is there? You are a tool to him. Let not that be the case forever.’_

“Yes,” Kayn says, absent-mindedly, “I am sorry too.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](https://ourgodslayer.tumblr.com/) | [Twitter ](https://twitter.com/ourgodslayer) || [Pillowfort.](https://www.pillowfort.social/flynn)
> 
> I literally don't touch either my tumblr or pillowfort and tumblr is on a queue but, [finger-guns], idk, the links are there.


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